Destined Part 1
by mermaidrain
Summary: Andre Marek is a unique individual and it will take a unique woman to love him. Based on the book and movie of Timeline. I tried to splice both of them a little bit better as far as the romance was concerned.
1. Romance of the Past

Andre Marek sifted through the dirt and rubble that was presumed to be the banquet hall of the manor of Castelgard in 1357. It was slow and tedious work that left plenty of time for rumination. Not that he minded. He was enjoying every minute of it. It had been a lifelong dream of his to be here, unearthing this particular page of history.

It had all begun when he had still been in grade school, when he was about 10 years old. One summer his father had read the adventures of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table to him and that had been all it took. He had fallen in love with the medieval era. He had wanted to be a knight, to go to battle for a lady's honor and be valiant. He had wanted to go on a quest and prove himself worthy of the cause. He'd even had a wooden sword and a cardboard shield he had carried around with him at home as he fought off the villainous bushes in the yard.

It hadn't been long before his parents had persuaded him to give them up. In the end it hadn't been a fair trade. He had wanted real sword lessons in exchange for his fake one. His parents had agreed, but their idea of "sword lessons" ended up being "fencing lessons." Fencing was for pussies. Fencing was like trying to fight off a hoard of giant Vikings with a twig. There was nothing like the feel of a broadsword in your hand.

Marek hefted a rock into his hands and felt its weight drag against them. He closed his eyes. Imagining it was a broadsword, he began swinging it around in circular motions. Snickering brought him out of his zone and he opened his eyes to find a couple of graduate students watching him from outside the wall of the site. He knew he had a reputation with the students as being a bit overly zealous about his subject matter, but he didn't care. He loved this stuff! He dropped the rock and got back to work.

Being an only child whose parents moved a lot had only helped to foster Marek's obsession. He found it difficult to make friends and instead retreated into history books. He even found the most arcane texts about the period fascinating. He was particularly drawn to warfare. Not that he was bloodthirsty, but the weapons and techniques used in medieval battle captivated him. That was how he had come to love the Hundred Years War between England and France. There had been so many fascinating skirmishes and maneuvers during that war. It was much better than some flimsy 10-year siege of Troy! This was a struggle for power of far greater epic proportions that would affect _all_ of Europe for well over a hundred years, crippling many countries as their resources were poured into a war that seemed as if it would never end.

Marek tired of using his brushes. There didn't seem to be anything remotely near the surface of his grid. He pulled out his spade and began to paw through the dirt carefully. He didn't want to damage any potential finds.

It had been no big surprise to his parents, then, that he became a history major in college specializing in medieval warfare. But they were quite stunned when he told them that he was going to pursue his doctorate at Utrecht University in Holland. It was one of the only universities in the world that specialized in "experimental" history, where they recreated parts of the past. The best part was that he got to learn archery, fighting with broadswords and even jousting. He had also learned medieval dress, language and customs as if they had happened yesterday, as if he had grown up in the era. He would have loved living back then. He'd never felt quite at home in his own time, even though he always told his students to value the present. He lived and breathed the past as if his very life depended on it. Thus, it was his passion for a life he could never really live that had garnered him the position of Assistant Professor of History at Yale at the age of 29.

And when Edward Johnston, Regius Professor of History at Yale, had approached him about the proposed dig of Castelgard and La Roque, he had jumped at the chance. So what if it was suspicious that ITC Research was willing to fund _any_ request for incredibly expensive equipment that they wanted. Edward had been conflicted, but there really was no moral dilemma here as far as Marek was concerned. Robert Doniger, brilliant physicist and bored billionaire, could throw as much money as he wanted to at them. As long as Marek got to research to his heart's desire, he didn't care how many palms in the French government had to be greased. It would be worth it! And he persuaded the Professor of just that. Marek was convinced that if he didn't make it to this dig in France, he would regret it for the rest of his life. He was meant to do this. He could feel it in his bones. He simply knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he _had_ to be there.

Marek's spade made a clunking noise. He switched back to his brushes and continued to methodically uncover a metallic object. Something had actually survived the fires that had razed the village to the ground. It was a chalice! He felt as if he was holding the Holy Grail. It was his first real find on this dig. He studied the simplicity of it, marveling at the fact that someone had used this very cup to drink out of over 600 years ago. He was holding the actual past in his hands. He had a sudden impulse to bring it to his mouth and kiss it. He grinned and picked up his radio.

"Kate over," he said into the static of channel eight.

"Go ahead Marek," Kate replied.

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm getting close. I just know it."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you owe me a pint," he laughed.

"What? You found something? What did you find?" she was almost shouting in his ear. All heads within hearing distance of a radio had turned his way.

"A chalice. It's a bloody chalice Kate!" His grin spread from ear to ear.

"Oh my God! You lucky bastard! I'm coming over!" She could be heard fumbling with the radio as she scrambled out of her tunnel in the monastery.

The rest of the camp was coming over now, curious to see what he had found. He beamed like a proud father over a newborn. He had been the first to find any artifacts on the dig and it gave him that feeling again, that this was right where he belonged.

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. **


	2. Lady Claire

Marek listened to Edward Johnston regaling the latest installment of grad students about the history of the site. As per usual he was telling them only the facts, not giving them any of the passion. Marek gritted his teeth as he listened and yanked off his hat.

"The English army in the nice red uniforms," he was saying while pointing to his model of what the site was supposed to have looked like in 1357, "occupied the village of Castelgard. The French meanwhile were advancing, trying to drive them out of there, in this direction," his hands mimicked the direction of the onslaught like dizzy butterflies, "over the river, past the monastery and up and over to the heights here."

The Professor's son, Chris, knocked over the French soldiers he'd been screwing around with. Marek rolled his eyes. Chris could usually be found getting in the way. He had no interest in history or archeology, but he made a point to visit his dad every summer regardless of the location. And more often than not, there was a dig involved.

"Just leave it Chris, that's fine," the Professor brushed him out of the way, "before you wreck the place." He continued as if nothing had happened. "The English army meanwhile had retreated to La Roque—well fortified, very well supplied—and both sides dug in for a long siege."

Marek couldn't take it any longer. He had to jump in. "The French were trying to push the English out of France for 100 years and Lord Oliver tried to take the fight out of the French." Professor Johnston smiled at him. Marek tended to exaggerate and romanticize history, but it always sucked the students in. He was a favorite among them. Marek brought history to life and kept you spellbound. The Professor stepped back and let Marek take over. They needed these recruits. "Now he has a prisoner, a woman of class and a woman of nobility—Commander Arnaut's sister, Lady Claire.

"During the battle he hangs her from the battlements for all the French forces to see." Marek clenched his fist. That part always pissed him off. What kind of English Lord kills a woman to taunt the enemy? And the English were supposed to be civilized? What happened to chivalry? Marek didn't have a very high opinion of Lord Oliver. "But instead of demoralizing the French—no, no, no—" Marek wagged his finger at the students and bounced on the balls of his feet. This was his favorite part of the story, "—it whips them into a frenzy! And they attack the castle like madmen and they overpower the English with sheer passion! So the fortress of La Roque fell in one night because of the death of one woman: Lady Claire." He held his hat in his hands as if he had just doffed it to pay his respects. The story of Lady Claire had always touched Marek in a way he could never explain. She must have been very special to have an entire army react with rage. The enchanted students remained quiet, as if a moment of silence was necessary for this brave, dead woman.

"All right folks, that's enough of the academics for today," Marek sprang to life and plopped his hat back on his head, "time to go and get your hands dirty." He led the crowd over to the dig site as Professor Johnston was left to shake his head in amusement. Every single time that man managed to steal the students from him.

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.**


	3. Mystery of the Sarcophagus

As the weeks passed, Marek found himself more and more absorbed in the requirements of running the dig. Professor Johnston had been absent quite frequently as he dealt with all of the behind-the-scenes minutia: the French politicians, the meddling moneylenders from ITC, and the new students. As a result, Marek hadn't practiced his medieval weaponry skills in a few weeks. Marek had decided to start using his lunch break to brush up on his archery skills in the field beside the monastery. He didn't want to get rusty.

Marek drew an arrow from his quiver and placed it in the bow. He pulled the string, aimed at the target and released, hitting the bull's-eye again. As he bent to get another arrow, he could hear a motorcycle racing his way, gravel spitting as it rounded the curved roads that led to the monastery. It could only be Chris. Marek drew and aimed again.

They had almost become like brothers the last few weeks during the Professor's absence and Chris had confided in Marek about his feelings for Kate. Kate, a former architectural student who had turned to history instead, was leaps and bounds out of Chris' league, though Marek would never tell him so. Although she was still a grad student, Kate was just like Professor Johnston and Marek: she loved history and would be consumed by it forever. Chris could barely stand the subject matter. He usually visited his father for a couple of weeks during the summer each year before he would get bored and leave, but this time his stay had long since passed that mark.

Marek's last shot went into one of the outer rings on the bulls-eye as Chris spun his motorcycle to a stop at the edge of the field a few feet away. Marek guessed that Chris' plan to talk to Kate last night hadn't gone over very well. Chris strode over in his direction. Marek groaned as he put his bow down on a sawhorse table nearby.

"Haven't been practicing have you?" Chris asked with a grin.

"Well you know," Marek put his hand on his lower back in mock pain, "I'm not getting any younger."

Chris plucked Marek's broadsword out of the ground and began to swing it around. Marek had been hoping to practice that too. "But man, you love this stuff." Chris' movements were getting dangerous to both himself and Marek.

"It's a habit I can't quite kick. Let me take that from you," Marek grabbed the sword from Chris when he swung it in the opposite direction, "before you cut something off you'll need later on. So…" Marek wasn't really good at this sort of thing. He didn't have a lot of experience giving this kind of advice. "Talking about love, how'd it go last night?"

Chris spun away from him and kicked the dirt. "It didn't."

"So how does it feel to be passed over for 600 year old ruins?" he asked.

"It sucks. It sucks big time. I don't understand you guys. You all live in the past," Chris griped.

Marek was stunned. What was so wrong about loving history? And if Chris was in love with someone that loved history, what hope did he ever have of getting close to her if he didn't at least understand her interest. "What?"

"You know what the past is to me?" Chris ground his teeth in anger.

"What? What is the past to you?" Marek asked, suspecting what was coming. Marek had noticed that Chris seemed to be repeating his parents' mistake, letting chemistry do all the talking. But Chris had to find this out for himself. Chris' parents had divorced when he was very young, as his mother had become quickly disenchanted with the lifestyle of an archeologist. And Professor Johnston, given the choice between his two loves—family or history—had chosen history. Marek had always understood that choice, as hard as it was to make. You can't give up your passions; they are a part of you. But Chris didn't realize how lucky he was. His father had remained a part of his life and they actually had a very close relationship.

"The past is why my parents split up," Chris said, "the past is practically what I've been force fed since I was a little kid. None of you archeologists look to the future," Chris practically spat.

Broken-hearted or no, that was going too far for Marek's sense of pride. "What are you talking about? What is the future but more of the same? More bloody gadgets and more machines like the one you rode up on. It's the past that's where it's at. I mean, people cared about each other back then. Men had honor."

"No, no. You know what that is to me?" Chris asked becoming jovial once again. "That's more of that romantic warrior crap."

Marek rolled his eyes. Maybe Chris was more like a bratty little brother. "Romantic? You want to see romantic? Follow me. Come on." Marek led Chris to his favorite find so far. He'd been chasing people away from it for weeks now. He had wanted to keep this one to himself for some reason, for as long as he could.

"What have you got? Oh no, not another stone sticking out of the ground," Chris pretended to tremble in terror. He was getting more annoying by the minute.

"Stones sticking out of the ground?" Marek said in disgust. "No, it's a 600 year old sarcophagus with a French knight and his Lady. Look. Isn't she beautiful?" Marek had been extra careful as he'd uncovered her face, finding himself strangely drawn to the artwork. It was unlike anything he'd seen from this period before.

"Yeah, she's a real knock-out," Chris laughed.

Marek sighed. "Now look," he pointed at the figures, "do you see down here? They're holding hands, now that's incredibly unusual for the time period." Marek thought that they must have loved each other a lot. A moment of loneliness overwhelmed him as he looked at the sarcophagus. He had never really loved someone like that and he probably never would. He had dated, but the women always got exasperated with his obsession with history. They never understood how much it meant to him.

"Yeah," Chris said with genuine interest, "that is kind of unusual, huh?"

"Yeah." Marek would've have given his right arm to trade places with the knight. He probably hadn't lived very long due to the war, but he had almost certainly lived a full life. For the first time in a long time, Marek felt something lacking in his life again. He went for long periods of time where he was just fine with his life being the way it was. He had a lot more freedom to dicker with being single. But then he would have a moment like today. Someday, he would tell himself on those occasions, he would meet an amazing woman who was perfect for him. "Oh God," Marek exclaimed with enough fake exuberance to cover up his momentary soberness. "Over here," he pointed at the sarcophagus again, "now this knight, he only has one ear. I mean, what happened there?"

"What are you talking about, one ear? It's probably just—a piece is missing. It's probably somewhere in the dirt."

"What are _you _talking about, a piece is missing? I'm the archeologist here, okay? It was carved that way. Trust me."

"All right. Fair enough," Chris raised his hands to fend Marek off. "So who do you think they were anyway?"

"So why would someone who doesn't care about the past be concerned with that?" Marek asked with a smirk.

Chris rolled his eyes this time. "Because I'm intrigued."

Marek laughed with glee. "See!"

"That's what you wanted to hear?" Chris lightly punched him.

"Absolutely. And it's true! We're all intrigued by this. It's why we're all here." They walked over to a rock wall and sat down. Marek wanted to explain what Chris would never understand. This love, this obsession overtakes everything else. If you didn't understand that it was as much a part of the person as the color of their eyes, all the love and all the chemistry in the world wouldn't work. "It's not just about the rocks and rubble, it's about these people. Who were they and what were their stories? It helps us to understand where we came from or where we're going. You know what I like to say?"

Chris held up his hand. "I know, I know, I know. 'You make your own history.'"

"Do I say it that often?" Marek asked with a grin.

"Yeah, all the time," Chris grinned back.

"Well, whoever they were," Marek motioned back at the sarcophagus, "they made theirs. Together." He looked longingly at the pair. Someday he would make his own history as well.

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.**


	4. Dreaming

Marek was floating peacefully in darkness. It was like he was lying on top of a river, just letting it carry him along wherever it wanted to take him. Then, as if he had opened his eyes, he saw light. He didn't so much move towards it as it came towards him. This sensation of simply being pulled along kept washing over his body.

As he entered the light, he realized he was no longer alone. There was someone here with him. He lifted his hand lazily to reach out and touch the person beside him. And as he did so, he found his hand touching bare skin. He was not surprised, nor did he react in any way. Somehow this was as natural as his own name. Then he felt a hand—a soft hand—reach across his body and cradle his face. The other body came into contact with his and he realized he was naked and vulnerable too. Yet again he was not shocked. He felt safe.

That was when he realized that the person beside him was a woman. She lovingly caressed his cheek and he knew this was no stranger. This was his soul-mate. He hugged her to him and cradled her head, finding his hand enveloped by long red hair. This was his beloved. He was content to just lie there beside her, floating along for eternity. He knew this was not the first or last time they had met here, in dreams. And as soon as he realized he was dreaming, he awoke to be confronted by another overwhelming wave of loneliness.

Marek looked out the window of the airplane at the world flying by. He could not go back to sleep, nor could he shake off the impression that his dream had been real. He tried to distract himself by thinking about everything else. The last 48 hours had been a whirlwind. There had been a cave-in at the monastery where they had discovered a cavern that had contained a mystery. No one had entered that cavern for over 600 years, yet somehow they had found a lense from one of Professor Johnston's bifocals and a manuscript with his handwriting asking for help. Marek had been terrified that the site had been compromised and all of their work would have been for naught, as the site would have been closed down forever. But Josh Stern, the technical expert, had done extensive testing and the carbon dating had proven that these were genuine artifacts, despite their incongruity.

No matter how much he thought on this, it just didn't make any sense. And then there had been the second mystery of the missing Professor. Edward had gone to talk to ITC a few days ago to raise some concerns he had about the dig. There had been plenty of pressure from them to "hurry up" and get the site renovated. They had no idea how long that sort of thing took. But when they tried to get in touch with the Professor to make sure he was okay, he was nowhere to be found. Chris had been frantic to reach his dad and he had been the one that had given Doniger the ultimatum: give us the Professor or we go to the authorities.

Doniger had immediately snapped into action and now Chris, Kate, Marek, Josh and Francois Dontelle, a French grad student specializing in French medieval history, were on a jet whisking across the Atlantic to New Mexico. They had yet to receive an explanation, but they were assured that they would receive one. Marek rubbed his lower lip in thought. He was the only one at the moment that wasn't listening to the Old English and Middle French tapes that Stephen Kramer, vice president of ITC, had given them to listen to without any explanation other than they would find them relaxing on the long flight. Marek turned and looked at the others who were fast asleep thanks to the pills Kramer had given them.

ITC was too efficient, too controlling. Marek didn't trust them. He knew something really screwy was going on here. Perhaps they had kidnapped or killed Professor Johnston and they were all in for the same fate. Despite the fact that they couldn't get any answers out of them, they had all blindly agreed to do everything that ITC had requested. And yet, Marek felt like a traitor. He knew he should be apprehensive, possibly pissed and ready for a fight, but he couldn't feel any of these things for very long. He felt excited for no reason he could give. He knew something incredibly fishy was going on, but he was as jazzed as a little kid on Christmas Eve. He knew that something was going to happen that would change his life forever. He couldn't explain it, but he was more than willing to face whatever came their way. He was ready to face his destiny.

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.**


	5. Fate Steps In

Marek ran for his life, whipping around trees as best as he could but he was still getting slapped across the face by twigs and narrowly avoiding tripping on roots. He was actually in 1357 in the forests outside of Castelgard, France and he was being chased by an English knight on a horse who was intent on killing him. ITC had invented a bloody time machine but it couldn't have picked a worse spot to drop them off! The forest suddenly ended and Marek frantically searched for a place to hide. He saw an outcropping where the hill he'd been descending ended and a little cave had been formed under the roots of some of the trees. He dove for cover only to be slammed into another body.

It was the French boy who had warned them that the English were coming. The boy was screaming in panic. Marek put his hand over the boy's mouth to silence him and put his finger to his own lips.

"Shhh, it's all right," Marek said, but as their bodies lay closely together Marek realized this was no boy. "You're a girl!" he exclaimed in shock. He looked into her green eyes and felt a jolt of recognition. That was impossible! She lived 600 years in time before him. There was no way they could've met before. But Marek would swear that somehow he knew her. The girl's eyes widened in terror as they both heard a horse stamping the ground directly above them. They both held their breath and waited for an eternity before the knight moved on, looking for them elsewhere. Marek would have preferred to remain right where they were until nightfall if necessary, but the girl squirmed her way cautiously out of the hole.

However, as soon as she reached the light, a knight jumped on her and she started to scream again. Marek scrambled out behind her, grabbed the knight's sword and ran him through. The knight grunted in surprise and then slowly melted to the ground. Marek was horrified at what he'd done. He'd just killed a man! He'd never killed anyone before and all of the moral ramifications of what he had done were now slamming his heart into his rib cage. What if he'd just killed generations of people that would've done the world good? He wasn't supposed to be in this time after all. Marek wanted to vomit.

The girl tugged impatiently on his sleeve and jerked him to his feet. Marek had no time to mourn the anonymous knight. There were more knights lurking in the forest waiting to find them and kill them both. They had to get out of there before they were found. Marek stumbled after her, letting her lead the way.

He had to find the others: Chris, Kate, Francois, Frank Gordon—head of ITC security—and one of his remaining helpers. Josh had refused to come with them, his knowledge of what the science would require of them—breaking them down to their electrons—overpowering any desire to see the past. And they had to find the Professor. That was why they were here in the first place as the Professor had traveled back in time a few days ago and had gotten stuck here somewhere. Well, at least that was the reason everyone else had needed. Not Marek, though he was just as concerned about the Professor as the rest of them. He needed no excuse to make this trip. He had jumped at the chance, regardless of the risks. He had the opportunity to see what medieval France had actually been like, to see Castelgard and La Roque in their original glory! There was no way he was going to pass that up!

But now, he wasn't finding it so romantic. He'd seen one of Gordon's marine buddies slaughtered right in front of him by one of the English knights and he'd just killed a man. Marek could feel the bile beginning to creep up his throat again. He had no time to be sick. He had to survive. Everything was happening much too fast. He had no time to take it all in. He laughed. He had just traveled back in time, shouldn't he have all the time in the world?

The girl in front of him turned around to look at him in consternation. Her eyes flashed him a warning as she motioned for him to be quiet. He really shouldn't call her a girl. This was a woman who had survived God knew what horrors of battle and had helped save his life as well. He looked at her red hair glinting like amber in the sunlight that peeked through the trees and was again haunted by that feeling that he knew her. It was almost as if there was something at the back of his mind that he just couldn't quite capture. Perhaps it was this time. People bonded much more quickly in the misery of war. He convinced himself that this had to be it. Marek staggered along behind her and hoped that they would be able to find the Professor soon. God only knew what had happened to him.

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.**


	6. Chivalry

They had found the Professor all right, but just like him they were now all prisoners of that English jackal Lord Oliver. It had all happened so fast. And Lord Oliver had killed Francois without a second thought! All Lord Oliver had needed to know was that Francois was French and therefore he must be an enemy. But it hadn't been necessary to make a game of it! Marek slapped his hand against the wall in frustration.

It was all his fault. He had been the one to encourage Francois to come on this trip. He'd downright insisted on it, as he knew that they'd need someone who could speak French well on their trip, even if it wasn't Middle French. Marek slapped the wall again. Then he noticed a commotion out the window. Lord Oliver had captured the redheaded woman and was now interrogating her. Apparently she could understand English. Marek had thought she had escaped when they had been captured. He watched as she spit in Lord Oliver's face and smiled. This was a woman after his own heart.

But then the bastard slapped her. Marek growled. How dare he hit a woman! His fists clenched in rage, but then he saw the woman start pummeling Lord Oliver with her fists before a knight grabbed her arms and pinned them behind her back. Good girl! He watched the knights lead her into the manor and he slapped the wall yet again. She was Lord Oliver's prisoner as well. It occurred to him that she must be important if Lord Oliver was interested in her. Then again, perhaps he was just interested in her for other reasons and that was why she had spit on him. Marek gritted his teeth. If that son of a bitch laid one finger on her, Marek was going to castrate him! He had to get out of here and rescue her!

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.**


	7. Revelation

Marek and the redheaded woman were floating down the Dordogne River, away from Castelgard and Lord Oliver. Marek had helped her to escape not minutes before and now he was swimming in the water loaded down with medieval garb that had become even heavier, if that was possible, so that he could try to direct their route down the river as best as he could. Meanwhile, the woman was sitting nice and dry in a basket that he pushed along. There was officially something going on here. Why else did he have such a need to keep rescuing this woman? He really needed to learn more about her.

"By the way, my name's Andre Marek," he said. She didn't even acknowledge him. She kept looking behind them at the village and the look on her face was so full of despair it made Marek worried. He realized that she must have lived in Castelgard. "Castelgard was your village wasn't it?" Again he received no response from her. Perhaps she didn't understand him. It was hard to know the exact pronunciation of the Old English after all. "Don't worry, you'll return there soon."

"No," she replied in a charming French accent, "the English will burn it to the ground before they move to La Roque."

"No, no. La Roque will fall too," he reassured her.

"Yes, but it will take many more lives and many months of fighting before it happens," she said this with such certainty, as if she knew this as fact. She had already lived a life too full of war and grief. "The French built that fortress, we know how strong it is."

Marek sidled around the basket until he could look into her eyes. "La Roque will fall tonight," he promised. She looked away.

"Only a prophet or a fool could make such a claim," she looked at Marek out of the corner of her eyes, hiding a smile. Marek laughed and she laughed in return. "In your case it's probably the fool," she teased, grinning at him. Marek grinned back. She had a beautiful smile that lit up her eyes when she used it.

"Whichever makes you smile like that," he said, causing her to blush and look away. "Are you married?" he found the words falling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He had to fight the urge to slap his forehead.

"No," she said, "we've been fighting the English since before I was born. There's no time for marriage."

"Of course." Marek found himself flooded with relief. But then he realized that she could be engaged. "Are you with anyone?" he asked cautiously.

"Am I with anyone?" she asked in confusion. "I am with you." She looked at him as if he had suddenly gone insane.

Marek laughed. "I know," he said, "no, what I mean is, is there someone that you see?"

"Do I see?" she began to frantically scan the riverside. "Nobody. It is possible they are hiding on the shore or in the woods. They could be anywhere."

Marek shook his head. "My God. You know," he said chuckling, "it's funny. We're speaking the same language, but you don't understand anything I'm saying do you?" He smiled at her in bemused silence. Then they heard a scream from the far side of the river. Both of them jumped and began to frantically row to the opposite shore, periodically looking over their shoulders to see if they saw anything. They made it to the opposite bank and were instantly surrounded by French soldiers, ready to attack.

"C'est moi!" the redheaded woman screamed, waving her hands frantically at them.

"C'est mademoiselle Claire," one of the knights said and the rest of them put their weapons away. One of the knights gave her a hand out of the basket onto shore and began leading her up the hill in front of them. "C'est mademoiselle Claire," he shouted again up at some approaching knights and it hit Marek like a ton of bricks. This was no ordinary woman.

"You're Lady Claire!" he said in shock. That this must be how he knew her. He must have known who she was from the moment he first met her.

She turned around and grinned at him. "Lady," she said, "I like that. It's charming. Come on," she motioned for him to follow them up the hill, but just then an arrow from across the river shot into their midst and took out the knight that had helped Claire. Claire started screaming and trying to go back down the hill after him, but some of the other knights held her back. They really were under attack. Marek grabbed the fallen knight and helped him up the hill after Claire as they retreated. He would do anything to keep her safe, even if it meant saving someone else's life to keep her out of harm's way.

Marek was actually going to meet Arnaut de Cervole, the leader of the French revolt against the English. The French knights were taking them back to their base camp. Marek was eager to meet him, but at the same time, he couldn't take his eyes off Claire. He kept looking at her to reassure himself that she was okay. Tonight was the night she was supposed to be hanged. He couldn't let that happen.

Arnaut came running up to meet them and grabbed Claire off her horse like a little girl, spinning her around and hugging her. Although they were speaking in very fast French he couldn't understand, Marek got the gist of it. Arnaut had been worried about Claire, and for good reason. Claire looked at Marek and motioned him over. Marek got off his horse and walked towards them. Claire introduced him to her brother in French, so of course Arnaut also began to speak to him in rapid French as he shook Marek's hand.

Claire translated. "He says he's very grateful to you."

Arnaut started and jumped back in alarm, his hand reaching for his sword. "You're English?"

"No!" Marek exclaimed raising his hands to show he had no weapons. "I'm not English! I'm Scottish."

"Arnaut, he saved the life of one of your men," Claire chided him.

"Scottish?" Arnaut asked hesitantly. "In that case, I don't know how to express my gratitude." Arnaut was once again gratefully shaking his hand.

"Well, you can." Marek decided to take advantage of the situation. "Just keep her close," he motioned to Lady Claire, "and keep her safe." He looked at her longingly. If she were anybody other than Lady Claire, they might have stood a chance.

Claire looked slightly indignant. "I can take care of myself."

"Yes, that's obvious," he grinned at her and she grinned back. "Please," he pleaded with Arnaut again, "do not let her out of your sight, especially tonight."

"Do not worry," Arnaut said quite seriously, "she will be well protected."

Marek felt at ease about Claire's safety. He had changed her fate. She wouldn't die this evening. "I must leave," he said to Claire. "I must return to Castelgard to search for my friends." He turned to Arnaut. "I need to ask you for a horse and a weapon."

"You will not make it back alive through the English lines," Arnaut looked truly alarmed for him. "They are moving from the village to castle La Roque. We attack tonight."

"Marek," Claire pleaded looking worried, "you must not go back there."

"I must at least try to find my friends," he explained, wishing he could tell her more. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Very well," Arnaut declared. "I will give you what you ask for. Thank you again." Arnaut left to find the supplies, as Claire looked very disappointed in the whole affair.

"Lady Claire," Marek said.

"Claire," she insisted.

"I wish we'd met at another time," Marek said as he took her hand and kissed it. She looked as if she would cry. Then he started to walk away from her before his legs failed him. He _had _to find the others.

"Andre Marek!" she called after him and he turned around. "Are you married?" a soft smile lit her face.

"No," he smiled back. She walked over to him and kissed him quickly. She was not afraid of saying what she wanted. She looked into his eyes for reassurance that he shared the same feelings. And he saw something in her eyes that made him feel as if he truly belonged, even if it was for only this moment. He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly in return before walking away, leaving her crying. She was safe and he could live with that, even if he might never see her again. He had done his best to protect her.

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.**


	8. Destiny

Marek couldn't believe it! Lord Oliver had somehow managed to capture Lady Claire again. He had been captured shortly after leaving her himself and had been a prisoner with Professor Johnston in the fortress of La Roque ever since. They were being forced to make Greek fire, a weapon of fire so powerful that not even water could douse it, by William Decker, a former ITC employee who had gone insane from too many transcription errors from excessive time travel and had now allied himself with Lord Oliver. He was holding them hostage, telling them to make it and he would guarantee they had a nice cushy life in the castle. But he wasn't letting them get back to the future. He'd even taken Marek's marker so they couldn't use it to return. If De Kere, as he now called himself, couldn't go home, no one could. He was just as bad as Lord Oliver. And now the jackanapes had Claire all trussed up like a sacrificial lamb, ready to hang her from the battlements if her brother didn't surrender.

"Dammit!" Marek screamed.

Edward came running over to the window. "What is it?"

"It's her! It's Lady Claire. I just delivered her to Arnaut for safekeeping. How did the English get her?"

"It's history," Edward stated apologetically.

Marek frowned. "Then history will change," he declared, going against everything he had previously believed. He would defy everything for this woman, even his beloved history. He grabbed a torch and a shield, and ran out of the armory. "Oliver," he yelled, "release Lady Claire. Bring her down to me now or by God I will destroy your arsenal!" He mimicked tossing his torch into the massive stores of gunpowder behind him.

"No!" Edward screamed behind him.

"Go on," Marek told Edward, "Get out of here." Professor Johnston and the other knights who had been standing guard ran away. Someone fired an arrow and it caught Marek's shield, spinning him and almost making him drop the torch.

"Hold your fire!" Lord Oliver screamed. "My God, he'll kill us all! Bring her down!" He motioned for Lady Claire to be released.

Decker stepped forward. "No," he screamed, "do not touch her! My Lord, if he drops the torch, he then kills her too. He will not do it."

"Back off De Kere! Or Decker or whatever your name is. I _will _blow your arsenal to hell!" Marek screamed. They stood at a standstill, but Decker kept edging slowly closer to Marek. Marek knew he would call his bluff. Marek quickly sized up where to throw the torch to cause the least amount of damage so they wouldn't all die and how much time and distance he'd have to leap before the explosion. He made his decision and he threw the torch into the room. Everyone ran in different directions, but the explosion was so powerful it knocked them all off their feet. Several knights even died and some were knocked unconscious against the stone walls.

"Oliver!" a male voice screamed from below. Marek stood to his feet and saw Arnaut standing in the courtyard calling out Lord Oliver. A stream of French knights were pouring out of the ground behind him into the fortress. Marek noticed Chris and Kate climbing up behind them.

"Arnaut!" Claire screamed in relief.

"Kill her!" Oliver shouted to the knights guarding Claire.

"Claire!" Arnaut stood stunned to find his sister here in such dire straights. He motioned for a couple of archers to kill the knights that were immediately threatening her life. One of the knights swung around as he was shot and cold-cocked Claire, knocking her unconscious. Then all hell broke lose and everyone was fighting: English versus French, Oliver versus Arnaut.

Marek wove his way through the pandemonium to Claire. She was his only concern. He had to save her. He climbed the battlements just as she was coming to and she started to scream at his approach. "Shh, it's okay," he reassured her. "It's me." She began to cry with relief and kissed him again. Marek kissed her quickly back and began to untie the ropes that bound her hands and feet. The knots were thick and intricately tied, not easily undone. Were these knights or sailors that had done this?

All of a sudden Claire let out a piercing scream as she looked over his shoulder. Marek spun around to find Decker lunging at him with a sword and narrowly missed being hit. Decker turned around and lunged again, but Marek rolled out of the way. He had no weapon so he had to knock that sword out of Decker's hands. Marek stood up and ran at Decker, tackling him around his mid-section like a football player and they tumbled down the stairs, knocking both temporarily unconscious.

Marek started to come to just as Decker was starting to moan. They both struggled to their feet, but Decker was quicker to respond. He grabbed a battle-axe and began to swing it at Marek. Marek still didn't have a weapon and had to keep dodging Decker. This could only last so long. Decker finally knocked him off his feet and had him pinned against a railing when he raised his battle-axe and dropped it, chopping off Marek's left ear. Marek heard Claire screaming from somewhere far away.

"My ear," he screamed in pain as he clutched the side of his head, "my ear!" Then the puzzle pieces finally fell into place and he finally realized what this meant. He was the one-eared knight on the sarcophagus! He _did_ have a history! One that had already been written in the pages of time and it was with Lady Claire! "It's me!" he shouted with joy as he looked at the blood that coated his hands. Decker swung the battle-axe at him again, but Marek fought with renewed vigor. He rolled out of the way and grabbed a sword from a dead knight. He spun around and fought Decker, parrying against his blows until finally he ran him through with the sword. Decker groaned and slowly sank to the ground.

"Marek," Chris yelled up at him, "where's your marker?" Marek began to search his shirt and neck. "Did Decker take your marker too?" Of course! Marek turned back to Decker's body and began to search his clothing for the marker. He found it and ran back to the railing, tossing it to Chris. "Come on," Chris yelled, "let's go!"

"You go," Marek motioned him away.

"No! Come on! Let's go home!" Chris screamed at him. Claire had finally been able to free herself from her ropes and came running up to Marek, throwing herself at him. He hugged her to him and was again shocked as he realized where he knew her from. He had met her in a dream once. Marek pulled back and looked into her eyes streaming with tears. She cared for him as much as he cared for her. He smiled.

"No," Marek yelled down to Chris, "You go with out me! I am home," he whispered into Claire's hair as he held her close. He had finally found his amazing woman and he wouldn't have to give up anything. Everything he was, everything he had ever done in his life up till now had been for a purpose: for this.

"Goodbye Marek," Chris yelled before running away. "I'll miss you."

Marek kissed Claire for all he worth, taking her breath away. He pulled back and grinned down at her. "Hello," he said as if seeing her for the first time.

She smiled back at him. "Definitely a fool," she said. Marek laughed. They would have a wonderful life—his future and her history. And they would make them together.

**

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Disclaimer: these characters are not my own. I borrowed them from Michael Crichton. Any dialogue is taken directly from the movie version.**


End file.
